From Irkutsk to part of the real Siberia

05Oct: Outside yet another train station, this time Irkutsk, we got the tram, 3 stops later we were on yet another ul Lenina and a few metres from our hostel. Russian street names are a trifle predictable. The Baikaler Hostel, owned by Jack Sheremetoff is very modern and we are immediately comfortable. Although the list of house rules is a little off putting and when we try to do our laundry, we find it is another 150rubles. But the clothes benefit from a wash and while those are drying, we head off. G and I have a little difference assessing directions, so I head off by myself to find an elusive agency (Green Express) that proves too elusive so I ring them… from my mobile. This is after attempting to buy a Russian sim card from a non English speaking shop. Apparently you can’t buy one, if you are a tourist and I couldn’t be bothered trying to figure out how to buy a phone card, so my ever trusty mobile proved yet again, how indispensable it is.
The Green Express prove even more disappointing, as they only run the Olkhon Island tours in the summer. I had so wanted to stay in a yurt or go horseriding.
I spend the rest of the day strolling around Irutsk. Admiring the amazing, sometimes crumbling wooden houses and mansions of one of the oldest towns of Siberia formerly known as the "Paris of Siberia". Some streets are entirely made up of these old monuments to the old way of living. Some even have the flicker of a light bulb which proves their remaining usefulness.
I meet G in Kafe 16 for dinner and we decide to take Jack up on his tour offer.
06Oct: At 9am, Jack drives his motley crew of 4 to the bus station. G & I introduce ourselves to our fellow travellers. Marlen and Anniken from Norway, are studying for a masters in Russian and are here for a few months to further their research. Jack delivers us to our mini bus (Marshrutky) and we take the back seat. We sit back and enjoy the entertainment. As Russian Babuskas and locals take the best seats and Jack rescues 2 German and 2 Dutch travelers, from missing the service, although they don’t show as much gratitude as they should, as they become distracted by the fact that the Marshrutky has 14 seats and 17 people to fill them. The 2 Dutch understandably upset, being 6ft 4” and built like brick shithouses.
Jack smiles and says Russia is getting more like South East Asia every day. I had to laugh.
Jack explains that we have to re-distribute the seating arrangements, once we are past the police checkpoint. This pacifies the 4 new arrivals. Redistribution involves one of the girls in the back i.e. me, moving up front with the driver, on a little seat between him and the other front seat passenger. But at least I have a good view. 7 hours and a lunch of pozis in a road side café later, we arrive at the ferry port just a few minutes after the ferry left. The delay, due to slowing down for ice and snow on the road. We wait 2hrs for the next one. As my leg is going dead, I get out and wait in the ferry shelter… a roof and 2 walls. A bit chilly. The Dutch and I end up chatting the time away. And don’t even realize how long we are there. A very kind Russian gentleman, waiting in his lada, offers me hot tea. He has obviously done this before. All I have to offer in return are some Pringles, which he declines. The tea is fab. The ferry arrives and the race to board is on. The locals are dropped off at their homes with their newly purchased flat screen tvs and baggage. The Dutch and Germans get dropped at the bus station. We thankfully are dropped off at the home of Olya and Kolya, our homestay for the next few nights. Our hosts speak no English but Marlen and Annikan prove to be fab translaters. The little house we stay in has been vacated by Olya's neighbour. It has 2 rooms with a connecting portion containing the sink, cooker and fire. The fire keeps the house remarkably cosy, considering it is only dying embers when we arrive. Dinner is cooked by Olya and throughout our stay we are amazed at her cooking skills and variety of dishes for our daily 3 meals. A lot of her dishes include fish but delicious and that is from a mainly non fish eater. We took turns to visit the outdoor toilet. This consisted of a little shed with a wooden floor, with a hole in it where you can squat n you haunches and drop the contents of your intestines and bladder into the pit below. It smelt fine.

07Oct: For breakfast we had semolina. I was maybe 9 the last time I ate it, but ate it, I did. Dad would laugh as he often struggled t make me eat it as a youngster. It was not as bad as I remember but I still won't be adding it to my list of favourite dishes.
G& I explore the town of 1200 inhabitants. We even go to the shore of the lake. It's cold, damn cold. So after a couple of hours we go back to the homestay. The girls have returned and within a few minutes we're all under our respective duvets trying to warm ourselves up. It took me an hour.
Rejuvenated after a fine lunch, we venture out again. Fidya, an amazingly friendly, bouncy dog leads the way and shows his selection of tourists to the local moggies. The musuem's legend informs us that it is open everyday except saturday. Today is Saturday so there goes that. We end up in Nikita's, the main hostel and information mecca on the island and run into the Dutch guys. They invite us back in the evening for drinks as they had been up til 1.30am drinking there. We go off in search of worthy beverages and then return for our Banya ala hotel Olya. We strip to our underwear and go into the Banya. It is based on the finnish steam rooms. So we steam the aches and pains away then pour dishes of hot and cold water over our heads and bodies to cleanse the sweat and dirt from our bodies. Refreshed we snooze for a while then dine. After a few moments diliberation, we unanamously dicide against going out in the cold, so stay in chew the fat and drink some of the vodka, I've been dragging around with me for the past few weeks. Finally someone to share it, albeit not Russian and not on the train.

08Oct. Today we had rice pudding for breakfast. And again not something I have eaten since being a pre-pubesant. We are given some homemade blackcurrent jam with some pancakes so I use the jam, as mother and dad used do to enhance the rice. It definitly makes the rice more palatable. Our lovable russian speaking driver, Andre collects us at 11am. Thank god the girls spoke Russian. Annikan sat in front and did a marvellous job of translating, providing us with a lot of information on the island. Andre took us to the most photogenic and interesting spots and regaled us with stories about bears and wolves and driving across the ice to the mainland in winter, with wolves nipping at his heals. Or feeding 3 bears including a cub, that became trapped on the island because the ice melted and they coudn't get back to the mainland except by swimming (too much and to cold). Eventually they were returned by the authorities to their own habitat.

The island is truly beautiful. It is like stepping back in time. Except for the tvs and mobile fone and the odd fancy car, the island could be in the 1950s or even the early 1900's. For 15 years after Perestroika, due to lack of funds, they had no electricity but this was re-connected of late. Most houses do not have running water but have flat screen tvs. The incongruity of it all is baffling but I loved it there and would love to return. We pass an abandoned derelict fish factory and it's associated accomadation (tiny huts) that was used in the Stalin era to house the Gulag prisoners who worked the factory. The Lake washed this lucrative endeavour away.
Andre takes us to a leafy glad where most of the leaves are fallen pine needles but many of the trees maintain their magnificent yellow and orange colouring even though it is the start of winter. Andre makes a fire and boils some water for tea and serves us the lunch that Olya has prepared. A small whole fish sliced down the side and stuffed with cheese and sandwiches. It is still warm from it's time in the oven. Fkursna!! I think that is Russian for Delicious.
Back at the homestay we indulge in another Banya dine, and while away the evening. It is then time to visit the toilet before bed. The smell has progressively deteriorated. Once I bend down I start to gag. This is severe hampering my attempts at adding to the sweet smell of manure. I zip up my collar ver my mouth and nose. that helps a little. Over the past 2 or so years I have found that I am becomng more sensitive to toilet smells. I think it is from haing out with Shak. This is from someone who has held back the hair of my friends while they pray to the porceline god. I have cleaned up after many a friend after they deposited the contents of their stomach in my bathroom. I have even held my friend KH's hand still covered with his stomach contents, albeit with my marigolds on. I have sent Cian running green to the loo after one of my stories. But toilets are getting the better of me.
09Oct: Andre collects us and we join the locals for our 7hr Marshrutky and ferry journey minus the Dutch who travel on another Marshrutky with a girl who has found a rather long icicle and is carrying it with her.